


Killing The Past

by gvarchangel



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20983871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gvarchangel/pseuds/gvarchangel
Summary: Living the dream here! I got paid to write a story involving my own characters! Yay! Sorry, was trying to be a little cheery after the emotional mess above. An actual description here:A Jester's past should stay dead. Simple, right? It helps when they can't remember it. But when the past has trouble letting go... Most Jesters will die for their comrades in costume. And they'll most certainly kill for them.Long story short, Reckoner-Lynx over on Deviant Art was so "inspired" by my College of the Jester they made their own. Poor Geist had a rough life before he became a clown, and it still hasn't been easy for him. Especially when he's possessed by spirits and his past continues to follow him. Lynx decided that part of that little mess needed some closure, so they hired me to write some up involving Jingles, and Arbiter0676's (also on Deviant Art) own Jester, Lancel. I was given mostly free reign with this, just the concept, the characters they wanted involved, a word count, and a "keep the torture more Joker-esque, not Nightmare on Elm Street." And I'm honestly quite happy with this one. I enjoyed the process and the end result I came away with.Not much else to say, other than hope you all enjoy it! And I'm not dead, don't worry! Just busy as Hell! While I get my life together and decide what I'm working on next, enjoy clown antics!Commissioner of this story, as well as owner of Geist and Valis is Reckoner-Lynx from Deviant Art.The Campaign and Lancel is owned by Arbiter0676 on Deviant Art.D&D is owned by Wizards of the CoastHuge shout out to Red Hook Games for creating Darkest Dungeon and their Jester, the biggest inspiration for these characters.Jingles and this story belong to me.





	Killing The Past

#### Killing the Past

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Instead of wasting time trying to comprehend the unexpected shout, Lancel rolls to his left and draws his rapier. A broom crashes into the ground handle-first where he was just standing, the flash of red on top of it now rolling across the grass.

When he recognizes the flailing shape, he starts laughing. “Jingles! Friend, you should have sent word you were coming. Halfjaw cleaned the red carpet last week: I would have happily rolled it out for you.”

The other Jester climbs to his feet, then takes a moment to shake the dirt from his costume. “That requires me having a plan long enough to warn you,” he chuckles while stretching his spine back into place. “Besides, surprises are more fun. Especially if that one worked.”

Lancel stows his sword on his hip, then dashes into his friend for a hug that’s just short of a tackle. “As if I would ever let _you_ get the better of me.”

“As if you can stop me.” Jingles returns the giggling hug, then squirms away to retrieve his broom. The crash landing doesn’t seem to have hurt it, thankfully.

“While I appreciate you remembering my birthday, you’re quite early. Almost a month so.” Lancel checks the new crater and nods. The dent in the College’s front yard is minimal, especially compared to the scorch marks from Hiccup practicing fireballs yesterday. “But I’ll happily take the gift now. Magic items, shiny baubles, and wine are all acceptable.”

The new arrival shakes his head with a chuckle. “And here I was thinking you were selfless enough to accept something for you and your fiancé. Is Geist inside?”

“He’s tutoring some new converts with Pennywise. I’m sure she won’t mind returning him to see an old friend.”

Lancel becomes a blur as he dashes towards the College of the Jester. A blur that makes a resounding _SMACK _when it crashes into a hippo that wasn’t there a moment ago. When the stars fade from his vision and he sees its white face painted like a mask, he quickly pieces together it’s another Jester that’s been polymorphed. 

The howling laughter behind him is proof enough who’s behind the magic. Lancel climbs to his feet and sprints into Jingles’ side. It’s a friendly shove, but one that knocks him back to the ground. “Now that was just rude.”

“It’s funny is what it was.” Still chuckling, Jingles stands again. He snaps his fingers and releases a very confused Jaeger from the spell. “Don’t tell Geist I’m here, not yet. I’ve come to whisk you away on a short little adventure. Only a day, two at most. And if all goes as I hope, you’ll be getting that birthday present right on time.”

The faster Jester’s piqued interest is easy to see in his bright eyes. “And this gift of yours requires my help why?”

“I don’t _need _your help. I’d like your company: there’s a difference. What do you say? Up for a tiny bit of danger to make your fiancé the happiest man alive?”

Lancel is quiet for half of a second, an eternity for someone who can almost outrun sound. Leaving the College short a guardian isn’t ideal, but it’s not like Unari and two hundred violent clowns can’t handle themselves. His larger concern is spending a night away from Geist… he doesn’t like making him sleep alone. His nightmares are always worse when they’re apart.

“You say that this will help Geist? That he will absolutely love whatever this gift is?” In a rare moment, he’s being utterly serious.

Jingles takes a step towards him, a dark grin visible only to those used to the mask-wearing fools. “If this works, you, me, and Geist will celebrate for a year. But we have to leave now, and it’s best that Geist not know yet. Just in case I’m wrong.”

With a small sigh, Lancel lets a bit of the excitement overtake him. He trusts this maniac more than enough to believe him. Whatever apologies he will owe Geist when he returns, they will be worth it. Maybe they’ll include Boomer’s homemade wine or the blindfold... Now that he thinks about it, both sound good. And not just for making up.

He grins at Jingles. “Where are we going and what do I need?”

“Bring snacks for a day trip, your blade, and a little spending money. Maybe a few healing potions if you want to play it safe. We’re headed south, past the fey’s forest to a tavern called Performer’s Paradise.”

“If Boomer’s potions are ready, I can travel in five minutes.” A slightly less morbid, more joking smile appears on Lancel’s hidden face. “Are you going to stop me with another giant animal?”

Jingles shrugs. “Only on your way out. Let you trip in front of the others and properly embarrass you.”

“Good luck.” Lancel becomes a blur again, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprints into the College. He requires only a minute to weave through the thin crowd of Jesters and reach his room, throwing together a small bag of snacks, coffee, and two dozen gold. The alchemist’s insistence that no one but her touch the potion storage requires another two minutes of impatient waiting, but that’s the only cause of delays.

The sprinting Jester returns and finds Jingles standing by the front door, talking to a short student with a macaw almost her size perched on her shoulder.

“Repeat the message. Just to be sure,” he asks politely, sounding both entertained and annoyed.

“The one for Dandelion, or the one for Geist?” Ahab asks in her gravelly voice.

“Dandelion.”

Peanut the Not-Parrot squawks and, in a near perfect imitation of Jingles, says, “Lancel is being borrowed by Jingles for a day trip. He should be back by this time tomorrow. If you have any questions, just pester Jingles in his dreams again.”

“Perfect!” Jingles claps his hands together with the tiny cheer. “Now, the one for Geist.”

Ahab repeats this message herself. “Jingles borrowed your boy toy for the day. He’s helping shop for your wedding gift and will be returned before tomorrow’s sunset. Clear your schedule: Jingles is sure he’ll show you how much he missed you the moment he returns.”

“By fucking you repeatedly,” Peanut adds.

“I WAS GETTING TO THAT!” Ahab shouts at her bird, poking it in the chest.

Another squawk. “It’s funnier when I say it.”

“It really is,” Jingles chuckles.

Ahab points at Jingles. “You, don’t encourage him.” Then the finger goes back to the bird’s chest. “You, don’t interrupt me.”

“Make me!” the bird chirps, then laughs in an imitation of its Jester master.

The excitement/anxiety of Jingles’ surprise has Lancel almost bouncing as he approaches. He gently nudges Ahab towards the front door by her bird-less shoulder. “It’s perfect. Now, go deliver the messages while we start our adventure.”

As the short pair walk into the College, Jingles slips behind Lancel and puts an arm on his shoulder. “… Remind me to ask Geist what they actually tell him when we get back. I’m sure they’ll improvise something ridiculous.”

Lancel chuckles, walking out onto the grass. “You said we need to leave now, did you not? Then we’re wasting daylight!”

“Onward! To mild danger!” Jingles cheers as he climbs onto his broom. A whisper of the magic word makes it hover before taking off like an arrow across the yard.

He doesn’t leave Lancel behind for even a moment. The Jester runs right alongside him at a steady jog. “It’s only polite I receive a hint as to what my surprise is,” he suggests, barely breathing harder than usual.

“In a moment,” his partner says, pulling out his lute to play a racing tune. “Once I’m sure no one can hear us and spoil it for Geist.”

“I know that broom can go faster: get the lead out!” Giving only a small laugh as a warning, Lancel breaks into a full sprint. The open fields around the College quickly turn into thick, darkened forest. His eyes move just as quickly as his feet, spotting a clear path around the trees as he covers a mile in roughly three minutes. He stops in a small clearing for a moment to be proud of himself and to wait on his partner.

Far from an expert in magic, it takes him a bit of effort to make a sizable flare in the sky and scan the tree line for life. There doesn’t seem to be any curious fey watching him, or at least, any that he can see. He imagines he looks boring to mischievous creatures as he uses a canteen of hot water to make himself coffee.

Jingles comes swooping into the clearing a minute later, using one hand to wipe the dead bug from his mask. “Clearly, Dandelion needs to revoke your coffee privileges.”

“What are you complaining about? I’ve only had four cups this morning. Five now.” Lancel makes a very dramatic show of sipping his mug. The burn on his tongue is worth the joke.

What Jingles hit was a large dragonfly. Lancel realizes this when it’s nearly thrown into his drink. The quicker Jester grabs it from the air, shoves it down the neck of his partner’s costume, and reappears where he started in almost a blink.

“… Not bad. Not bad,” Jingles concedes as he pulls the small corpse out. “So, would you settle for just a hint, or would you like to know everything?”

“Everything, please,” he replies while tapping his foot impatiently. “I want as much time as possible to plan how I’ll be giving this gift to Geist. He dese-”

“Valis.”

Lancel’s foot stops mid-tap and mid-word for almost a dozen seconds It’s not that his mind doesn’t understand the answer. It’s the emotions he has to process before even closing his mouth.

Valis needs to die. Lancel doesn’t want justice for what he did to Johann, the man Geist was before his Rite. It’s not vengeance for hiring mercenaries to kidnap and torture his prince. And it’s not even because he knows that Valis is now dangerously obsessed with Geist. Any of those would be enough, but that’s not the biggest reason he fantasizes of putting a rapier through his eye.

It’s that killing him might give Geist peace. Johann was a prisoner to that monster, trapped in a cycle of abuse thinly veiled as a relationship. Even if Geist doesn’t remember who he was, his nightmares always bring back some inkling of the torture endured when they were “together.” Valis is the reason that when his dreams are invaded by the Old Ones, he wakes clutching at his neck, looking for bruises where a monster kissed him. If there’s even a chance that putting him in the ground will let Geist sleep soundly, Lancel is going to take it.

“Where. Is. He,” the Jester growls, already reaching down for his rapier.

Jingles shakes his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Lancel all but appears in front of his partner, hands firmly gripping his costume at the shoulders. He won’t dare hurt him… but he’ll make damn sure he knows he isn’t joking. “Then why am I here.”

“Because I know where he’s going to be.” Jingles has another morbid smile beneath his mask, his now-orange eyes barely twinkling with violent, joyous thoughts. “Performer’s Paradise, in a month. You’re going to help me ensure my information is correct. So, when the time’s right, you and Geist can turn that waste of air into worm food. Hopefully he’s awake to feel them burrowing into his brain.”

“When I get my hands on Valis,” Lancel all but hisses, leaning closer to the other Jester, “he won’t live long enough to suffer like that… I am not taking chances.”

“Personally, I’d like to play with him and give him a taste of how his goons hurt Geist. But that’s for you two to decide… Though I would love to be invited and watch the show.”

With a slow breath, Lancel forces himself to settle. He lowers his fury down from raging, to angry, to calmly planning murder. Stepping back from Jingles, he nods. “How did you find him?”

His partner seems to relax a little himself. His quiet giggling has faded down to a small grin peeking around the corners of his mask. “Geist told me enough about Valis I could hunt down a current description. He works as a performer _and_ a drug dealer now: without Geist’s help, his shitty shows can’t pay the bills. I talked with a few Long Walkers and bartenders, and they helped me figure out his route. If he sticks to it, he’ll be reaching Performer’s Paradise in a month.”

“That’s…” Lancel starts to smile. Not only at the chance to do what he’s wanted more than anything for months, but at the effort his friend put in for his fiancé. “Remind me when your birthday is. You’ve earned at least four gifts to die for.”

“This is me helping a friend, not a paying job… though I’ll never say no to gold.” Jingles gives a small bow, then resumes straddling his broom. “Is it safe to assume you know the rest of the plan?”

“I believe we should head to this tavern and politely ask the owner when Valis will be in next. If manners and coin don’t work, we see what shadow puppets we can make with his severed fingers. We then return to the College, mark our calendars, and plan how to burn the tavern down with Valis’ corpse within.” The Jester’s renewed excitement has him bouncing again.

“That’s the gist of it. But a warning: this place is known just as much for shady dealings as it is for performers. Even criminals like a good show.”

“Which is why you wanted a partner. Jingles, I’m touched by your willingness to admit I’m the best swordsman in the land, and that you would be so humble as to ask for my help.” Lancel is just shy of grandstanding now. “Why, I will happily defend your weak body from any thugs who will oppose your kind gesture.”

Jingles laughs and stands on the handle of his broom. “Defend me? No, someone must protect them from me. I get a little… messy when there’s more than one of them. Fire, rancid clouds, dinosaurs from above. And then Valis hears I’m after him, he tries to hide, things get messier...”

“Is it really that hard for you to admit you enjoy my company? And that I’m better than you?” Lancel considers swatting him off the broom as he slowly floats in circles but remains polite.

“The former is common knowledge, friend. Actually, acquaintance: you annoy me far too much to be considered a friend.” There’s just enough playfulness in his tone to keep it from being an insult. “But the only place you will hear the latter is in your imagination.”

Lancel laughs loudly at that one. “My mind wanders to far more entertaining things. Things you simply aren’t cute enough for.”

Jingles floats to the far side of the clearing, his back to the south. “I have enough nightmares without knowing what your wet dreams are like, thank you… Come. We have a bar to visit.”

“Hopefully, we will get to leave this one standing. Nice taverns are so rare these days.” Lancel starts into a jog past his partner. He holds pace with the broom this time, neither trying to exert themselves too much before their destination.

They move as fast as any horse, but they are still almost out of daylight when they reach a safe hill near the bar. Twilight’s dark red sky gives their costumes camouflage while they examine Performer’s Paradise. The tavern’s surprisingly well constructed for something a half-day’s travel from any other civilization. Both stories of the main building are immaculately constructed from dark oak, and a stained-glass window gives the second floor a touch of ostenation without forsaking coziness. The open field it sits in gives them a good view of any monsters or bandits that would be attracted by the activity. A small storage shed and their hill are the only real cover during the day.

Just under a dozen carriages are parked along the southern side, far enough from the front door to not impede traffic. Another door is visible nearer the storage shed: the man pacing in and out of it with bags on his shoulder is almost a more effective label than the sign, “Employees Only.” There’s enough activity visible through the windows to show the ground floor bar is more than alive.

“What was the word you used before?” Lancel asks, munching on a dried apple slice. “Messy? That audience will certainly make things so.”

“Or serve as a perfect distraction. If the crowd is watching the show and busying the staff, no one will miss the owner.” Jingles lets his singing stone sickle spin around his wrist. The magic blade hums as it passes through the air.

“We can take him to the shed and talk privately. What wonderful convenience.”

His partner nods. “I wonder which he’ll be more receptive to: fear, empathy, or coin… Shall we place bets?”

“My faith in the sympathetic world hopes it will be the middle choice.” Lancel gives a morbid chuckle that only lasts a moment. “But I would wager coin. Fear isn’t reliable this far to the north. Some fools think the monsters of the forest are scarier than having a Jester as an enemy.”

“Fools they are...” Jingles ceases twirling his blade and lets it hang at his side. The metal continues to sing softly even while perfectly still, something it only does around other items crafted from the rare stone. He looks to the ring on his friend’s hand. “Have you and Geist chosen a date yet? Or did I miss it? Tell me I didn’t miss it: I’ve been practicing my best man speech for a month!”

“Bold of you to assume you are even invited,” the quicker Jester teases with a grin. Then his voice softens noticeably. “No, you have not missed it yet. I… I’m waiting for a winter wedding. There’s something intoxicating in the idea of our costumes contrasting clean snow, hearing its perfect crunch beneath our feet as we dance for the first time as husbands. Pure snow from the sky, not some magical replacement… Geist told me that he knows that he will always be my prince, and I will always be his knight. That he doesn’t mind waiting for a ceremony if it will make the day perfect for us both… I don’t deserve him.”

Jingles taps the tip of his blade to his friend’s ring, making them hum a pleasant chord. “I’ll have to visit at the end of fall, so I don’t miss the first snow you’re obsessed with… I can manage that.”

Lancel gives a nod, smiling. “Of course, you can. It’s not like you have a social life to be busy with. And what could be more important than _my _wedding?”

“Let’s see: trimming my fingernails, dusting my new home in Golden Hill, sewing the hole in my-” Jingles tries his hardest to get through his imaginary list, but the giggles get the better of him.

“You truly know where I am most vulnerable: comparing me to dust,” Lancel quickly jabs back. As their shared laughter fades, he tilts his head towards the tavern. “Shall we?”

“Not yet. Let the sun finish setting. Our target will be easier to kidnap in darkness.” Jingles sits in the grass cross-legged and adds some water to kettle from his bag, then boils it with flame from his fingertips. “Did you use all of the coffee you brought with you?”

“There’s enough for another cup or two.” The pair brew the drink quickly and sip their portions while waiting on the setting sun. It takes less than twenty minutes for night to fully descend on them, barely enough to silently enjoy the moment before the conditions are right. But they don’t wait any longer than necessary. No one is outside to notice the dark shapes approaching with nightfall or hear their muted laughter.

A coin toss decides that Jingles is the leader for introductions, and it is only that reason chaos does not immediately ensue. If Lancel had been the one to look through the window first, everything would’ve fallen apart.

The tavern’s ground floor is larger than it looks from the outside, partially due to the open layout. The leftmost wall is dedicated to the bar and a stage occupies the back quarter. Everything else is occupied only by drinking people, hunched-over-food-eating people, and whispering people. Roughly four dozen bodies are inside, most of them hired muscle accompanying rich bosses that traveled here for music and questionable deals. The merchandise is hidden, but the body language is easy to read. Even for a Jester with only one functioning eye.

That eye is glued to the stage in the back. A single performer is failing to get the crowd to notice his cello playing. The human is barely over six foot with a thick frame that the face almost distracts from. His chestnut hair and immaculate beard would be objectively handsome if there wasn’t a pair of such bitter brown eyes between them. They’re scanning the audience, openly detesting each and every one of them for not paying him more heed. That, above all else, tells Jingles this is Valis, well ahead of schedule.

He grabs his partner and pushes his back against the wall. Lancel makes a quick, surprised sound, but the orange in his friend’s eyes silences him. Jingles shakes his head to steady himself, the bells on his hat not quite loud enough to be heard inside.

“Look through the window. Check the stage.”

There’s one advantage Lancel has over Jingles: he’s met Valis. He escorted Geist to a tavern further south as practice for public performances some time ago. Just a field trip that had gone swimmingly, save the drunken fool who stormed the stage and demanded Geist remove his mask. He kept screaming that “only his Joanna” knew the song he sang, only she played like he did. Lancel made a show of kicking him out of the bar with his pants around his ankles. He assumed it was just some idiot that missed his ex so badly he was imagining things… When Valis hired mercenaries to kidnap Geist, he knew he made a mistake.

A mistake he wasn’t going to make twice. As soon as he sees the cellist on stage and recognizes him, what little logic he has left departs. His knee catches Jingles in the chest and pushes him away. The rapier is already drawn, and Lancel darts for the front door of the bar. His mind maps the clearest path through the crowd. Valis will be dead before he hits the stage in eight seconds.

A lute strums behind him, the only warning before vines erupt from the ground. They’re plenty strong enough to stop his feet, and his forward momentum slams his upper half into the dirt. Before he can get back up, Jingles tackles him, his hands pinning him to the ground.

“Wait, you damn idiot!” the Jester on top hisses.

Lancel tries to elbow him. The strike connects, but vines snag it before he can swing again. He growls back instead. “He dies! Now!” He doesn’t care enough to whisper anymore.

Jingles quickly shoves his hand under the pinned Jester’s mask and silences him. He aims a hand crossbow at the door, waiting for someone to investigate. No small task with his writhing partner still trying to kick him. But after a few moments without interruption, he decides they are still unnoticed. “Never said he wasn’t.”

The trapped Jester settles slightly, not done looking for an escape yet. His arms and legs continue slowly testing the vines holding him down. “Then why are you trying to stop me?”

“Just slowing you down,” Jingles mutters as he holsters his crossbow. “I doubt even we could take all of them at once… And Geist needs you alive more than he needs Valis dead. Or do you want to gamble that there’s a Great Hereafter you and Geist can have your snow-filled wedding in?”

“That’s…” Lancel’s mind doesn’t finish the thought as he forces himself to focus on Geist. What his nightmares would be like without him to sleep against, how badly he would cry at his funeral, how angry he would be with him for being so stupid... The blood clouding his sight settles enough for him to see clearly. “What did you have in mind?”

Jingles leans in closer, not hiding the small chuckle in his voice. “What we do best. A little shock and awe. I feel like fire tonight, don’t you?”

“That’s your idea? Burn the bar down with him in it?” The possibility of Valis escaping such an inferno starts to make his rage return.

“No. But a fire will push them out the back… where an armored owlbear will ensure they’ll listen when we suggest they leave Valis to his fate.”

Lancel lets the idea play out in his mind. The customers will be drowning in panic after fleeing the fire and finding a true monstrosity waiting for them. Fear all but guarantees they will throw Valis at them as a sacrificial lamb. Through his anger, a half-smile forms on his face. “If you provide the creature, I’ll provide the flames.”

“Atta boy.” Jingles climbs back to his feet but doesn’t remove the vines. “One final condition. Since it was my idea and my information that led us here… I’ve earned five minutes alone with him. After that, he’s all yours.”

“… He’s alive when I get him. And he has both of his eyes, so he can see the blade enter them.” The tone in Lancel’s growl shows this is far from a request.

“Done.”

With a soft whistle, the spell ends, and the vines dissipate. Lancel stows his rapier as he stands. They nod to each other, then move toward opposite ends of the tavern.

Lancel considers a spell to feign a wall of fire but decides he doesn’t want to risk them seeing through an illusion. An unattended oil lantern left on the porch is small enough that he can fit it through the door when he barely cracks it open. With perfect accuracy, he throws it into the center of the bar’s liquor display, instantly igniting half of the wall. By the time the crowd realizes what’s happening, he’s already shoved two stolen shovels and a rake through the door’s outer handle. The fire he places in front of the window is an illusion, but the crowd is too busy trying to escape to notice one fire is only uncomfortably hot as compared to skin-melting hot. They rush the back door like a wave of ale-scented flood water.

The faster Jester hears the roar of something more otherworldly than an owlbear from the far side of the building. Lancel rushes around to see the patrons leading the crowd trying to stop, but those in the back shoving them out of the building. Pushing them closer to the towering monstrosity of living ink. One moment, it looks almost humanoid, but then he blinks, and it looks more like a dragon. A second later, and it reminds him of a wolf. Each variant roars like a mix of all these creatures at once.

As the last of the patrons leave the building, Lancel focuses his magic on moving the illusionary fire. Instantly the back door is burning just as brightly as the front. A shape streaks across the darkened sky above, dropping a lit torch onto a line of oil and brush. At nearly the same speed the bar became engulfed, a literal wall of flame circles everyone but Lancel. A small gap in the fire serves as the only way in or out. He takes the hint and walks through it.

The crowd is tightly grouped together near the bar, clearly fearing the creature more than the fire. Sell swords form the outer line, and the defenseless employers are screaming commands from the center. Valis isn’t on the outside, and the middle is too thick to identify anyone. Lancel draws his rapier as some of the fighters angle towards him, ready for a brave few to attack.

“WELCOME TO THE CIRCLE OF TRUST!”

Everyone jumps when the inky shark creature roars in Common and Jingles drops from his broom at its feet. His laughter is more manic than normal, the fire and monster near him making the gangly clown look like something from a nightmare.

“Thank you for coming, one and all!” he shouts with the dramatic gestures of a circus leader. “My name is Jingles, and I am here to ensure that when Lancel speaks, you listen! And believe me, you really should! If you ignore him, if you break the Circle of Trust, or if you try to hurt us… you’ll see that Nibbles LOVES criminals marinated in fear and their own piss!”

The effect is instantaneous. Every armed member of the group lowers their weapons, a few dropping them. Those unarmed are as silent as the grave, save the one already crying for his mother. All eyes are on Lancel, waiting for his decree. And no small part of him relishes the captive audience.

His voice settles into the clear, dramatic tone he uses when telling stories. “We are here as agents of fate, here to ensure that Valis dies. Those who stand with him will join him in his grave. Those who interfere will be shown the same lack of mercy. I do NOT CARE about your crimes, your coin, or your supposed importance. Anyone who values their lives will stow their weapons and leave.”

He takes a small sidestep, gesturing to the hole in the flames. “I give you thirty seconds to decide where your loyalty lies. With a burning tavern and a dead man or with survival.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before a quarter of them are sprinting for an escape. They are equally divided between employers trying to outrun their bodyguards and mercenaries forsaking their contract. By the time Lancel’s deadline is reached, less than a dozen of them remain either standing defiantly or frozen in fear. Valis is firmly in the former.

His gaze is almost cool enough to douse the fire surrounding the group. He ignores Jingles cheering on the crowd sprinting for the carriages. He even ignores the monster now shaped vaguely like a rhinoceros. No, the cellist is glaring at Lancel. His hand is wrapped firmly around a quarterstaff, its tip dragging across the grass as he slowly approaches the Jester.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” he says. His voice shows no fear, no warble. Only false confidence that he’s in control. “They use me as a cautionary tale at that bar, what happens if you interrupt you damned Jesters… You’re an idiot for coming between me and _my _Joanna.”

Lancel’s hand is clutching the rapier tight enough to almost hurt. His mind knows he could cover the ground between them in a second, stick the blade through his eye before he can blink. But Jingles’ words are still ringing in his mind. Both their deal, and what would happen if he couldn’t take the others on his own.

“His name is Geist. And he belongs to no one,” Lancel growls loudly, watching the group slowly gain courage. Some are raising their weapons, not quite ready to fight. Yet.

“Gods, she’s still using that bullshit name. Is that from the crap you’ve filled her head with, or does she still think she can run from me?” He laughs almost as darkly as the one Lancel and Jingles shared plotting this man’s death. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to drag her back myself when I’m done with you.”

As Jingles joins Lancel’s side, the last few bystanders make their choice. Four more take off, leaving Valis with only five sell swords not smart enough to run when they had the chance.

Valis’ bravery seems to increase as the others form up behind him. “First, I’ll tear your clown bullshit out of her head. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and I’ll get that stupid cross-dressing habit out too. If not, that’s next on my list. Then I’ll remind her that _I_ am-”

Jingles and Lancel decide it’s been enough at the same moment. Valis opens his mouth, and a cloud of green fog pours out. Jingles shifts his focus from maintaining the monster to growing the toxic smog. Their target and two others are swallowed by the poison, the sound of vomiting the only indication where they are. He continues laughing as he approaches in a slow, meandering dance.

Lancel all but appears next to the closest thug. She barely has enough time to raise her sword to block the first strike before the second, third, and fourth puncture her heart. As that one falls, her partner tries to stab Lancel’s back with a dagger. He ducks under it nimbly, jabbing his throat once with his free hand. He staggers back, and then dies as the rapier goes through his open mouth. But the blade gets stuck in the base of his skull. 

Jingles takes a less direct disposal method for his targets. He uses a small illusion to give his victims false hope they’re running away from the fire. They leave Valis behind as they try to escape, coming face-to-mask with their tormentor. Covered in each other’s vomit, they only stare as the poison dissapates and Jingles begins to glow slightly. “Actually, Nibbles isn’t the hungry one… I am.”

Lancel doesn’t have enough time to retrieve his rapier before his final foe charges. Her mace slams into the Jester’s chest, knocking him away from the body holding his sword. He spins with the hit so that it doesn’t push him to the ground, even if several of his ribs crack under the impact. He uses his back-up dagger to stab the mercenary in the gut as she winds up another swing of the heavy mace. When she hunches over to scream, it’s over: Lancel sinks the dagger into the soft neck with three quick stabs.

Jingles pulls down a zipper on his mask, opening the wood like cloth. Something almost like the tube mouth of a mosquito juts two feet from the face hidden in darkness. But instead of maintaining its needle shape, it opens, revealing row upon row of alligator teeth. Each fang drips a steady stream of blood as they reach towards their victim like hungry hands. The screams of the mercenaries sends several nearby birds into the air as they try to leap through the fire.

As Valis finally ceases vomiting and looks around, panic sets in. He pushes it back down and roars like a barbarian. Jingles and his singing sickle are ready for the charging cellist. But they don’t get the chance: Lancel blindsides Valis with a kick to the side of the head. The first hit doesn’t quite knock him out, but the second roundhouse is more than enough to do the job.

“Awww...” Jingles moans as he stows his blade. “I wanted to hit him while he could fight back.”

Lancel barely notices the comment. He’s clutching his rapier tightly, suppressing that scream in his brain that he should kill him now. But the voice reminding him of his debt is just strong enough to win out. “You have five minutes, starting now,” he whispers, staring down at the unconscious form.

Jingles nods and grabs Valis by the shoulders. “Wonderful, knew you wouldn’t forget. I will...” He pauses for just a second to ensure he’s dragging his captive the correct direction. “Use the shed. Please ensure none of the previous guests come back. And tend to the dead’s worldly possessions.”

“Will do.” With a sigh, he turns back to check the pulses and pockets of the corpses. All the carriages are speeding away with no sign of turning back. They truly are the smarter ones.

Valis wakes up with a burn actively being formed on his face. He yells, trying to use his hands to pat it out, but realizes they’re tied behind his back. His legs try to shoot out and find themselves bound as well. Though he still can’t see, he gets his brain working enough to understand he’s on his knees with his arms and legs tied to something behind him.

“Oh, don’t fret, little lamb,” the clown standing over him whispers, patting out the burning patch of his beard. “Singed skin is the least of your worries.”

As he shies away from the contact, Valis’ vision returns. He’s in a room almost too dark to see, but the outline in front of him is definitely a Jester. It’s too short to be the one called Lancel.

Valis bites at the hand and misses narrowly. He then spits at the clown. “Oh, you _idiot… _You have no idea how much you’re going to hurt before I kill you.” His arrogance is keeping his voice steady for now.

The clown sighs and shakes his head. His bells jingle slightly as he does. A part of Valis’ brain realizes that’s probably where the name “Jingles” comes from. “I would call you brave, but I think you’re just too stupid to realize you’re done for. Shame; now would be a good time to pray to whatever god you hope is still around to deal with your soul.”

“I don’t need some prayer or god to ki-”

Valis’ rebuttal is interrupted by something solid striking him in the face. It’s too dark for him to tell what, but it knocks out at least two of his teeth. He starts coughing on the blood filling his mouth.

“What you need are some damn manners.” Jingles leans down close to his face. Valis can see the white of his mask clearly. Then the eyes start glowing too, the blue irises shifting to a dark orange. “But it’s too late for you to learn those. Just like it’s too late to learn that a Jester’s past should stay buried. Especially if you’re trying to drag Geist back into the shitty life he escaped.”

The same confidence that makes him think there’s a way out tells him not to take that insult sitting down. Valis spits blood on the clown’s mask before giving a bitter laugh. “That name is still stupid. Not as stupid as going by Johann when she was playing dress-up, but pretty damn close. Maybe that’s why she joined you idiots. That costume hides her tits pretty well. The bullshit you filled her head with was just icing on the cake.”

Jingles’ eyes grow a darker orange, borderline red as he stands over him. “It’s not often I get to play with someone I know deserves every bit of pain I can cause… Do let me know exactly how this feels. I’m curious.”

The silhouette points a hand at Valis and whispers something. The whisper multiples a thousand-fold in Valis’ mind, each too blurred to understand. But the effect is instantaneous: pain radiates throughout his skull and his limbs panic. He kicks and pulls hard at his bindings, blind instinct screaming at him to run for his life. But the rough rope only digs in harder. His skin tears the more he struggles pointlessly and blood begins to drip onto the floor. In seconds, his wrists are on fire with rough cuts and burns.

When the effect subsides, Valis is panting heavily. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?” he roars at the shadow with glowing eyes.

The response he gets is a quiet chuckle. “I call it ‘Dissonant Whispers.’ It eats at your mind and makes your body desperately to escape. That makes it extra effective when they can’t run away.”

“You’re dead meat,” the captive whispers after he gets his breathing controlled. The implied violence in his voice grows with each word. “Do you hear me? You’re dead. DEAD!”

“Oh, get in line. If even a quarter of the people who threatened me were successful, there wouldn’t be enough left of me to bury.” Jingles opens his pack and pulls out a sickle that faintly glows purple in the dark room. “Luckily for you, I only have time for one final trick. Someone else is very anxious to get their hands on you.”

Genuine worry tries to creep in Valis’ mind. He shoves it down with threats. “I’ll kill that other clown quick, but I’ll take my time with you. Then I’ll get my Joanna back and teach her how to behave properly.”

“You’re too serious, little lamb. Remember, a sense of humor is all we have in our final days.”

Valis tries to shout again as Jingles flicks him on the forehead. The words become a laugh instead. Each subsequent threat on his lips morphs into more insane cackling. The clown’s stupid energy, his manic tittering grows in his mind until it replaces his commands to breathe. Valis’ voice is lost as Jingles’ laughter pours from his throat. His mind screams to silence itself, but it’s a whisper compared to the roaring giggles in his head.

The Jester watches for a moment, his eyes turning blue for a moment before shifting back to the orange. “You see what I mean? What else can you do?”

His purple sickle comes up, and the point rests against the bottom of his stomach. The edge cuts through his expensive shirt, then the skin beneath. The blade slides into Valis effortlessly but burns like the rustiest knife he’s ever held.

Valis continues to laugh, the pain forcing tears to well up in his eyes. Jingles joins with his own psychotic chuckle. His smile can almost be heard as he whispers in Valis’ ear and nudges the blade deeper. “There’s only pain and suffering in the end. Then it’s just nothingness waiting for you. Might as well have a little fun on the way down, right? You see, my job is ensuring everyone has a good laugh when the void takes them… But sending you there myself puts a smile on my face as well.”

The insufferable laughter in Valis’ mind shows no sign of stopping, and the panic that was there is finally stronger than his confidence. He wants to scream. Something to get the fear out of him. To show he’s in pain as the clown leaves a massive slash in his stomach. But everything comes out as the insane laughter. And that lack of control scares him more than anything.

Jingles finally pulls the blade out and stands. Valis keeps howling with laughter as he wipes the blood away, then stores it back in his pack. “Unfortunately, our time is pretty much done,” he explains with sadness in his voice. “But don’t worry. Lancel will be here to deal with you in a moment. Then torturous oblivion for you. As for us, well...We’ll celebrate your death, and you will be forgotten before the week’s end. I hope you can find the irony in that, my fellow performer.”

Of all the things in his mind that try to fight back the mania, it’s a realization that does it. A simple truth that makes him want to laugh. But that’s his laugh, not the clown’s. It gives him enough power to silence himself, and then grin at the Jester.

“Joanna hasn’t forgotten me, has she?”

Jingles pauses, staring at him with his head tilted in curiosity.

That tells Valis he’s on the right track. He ignores the pain and smiles wider. “She hasn’t. Pretending she’s a man didn’t do it. Joining your cult didn’t… You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t remember who owns her.”

The clown steps over to the door and lights an oil lantern. Not that Valis finally seeing he’s in some storage shed changes anything.

“Then I’m taking her to the grave with me, you insane little shit.” A wad of snot and blood flies out of his mouth, landing firmly on his tormentor’s foot. “If that Jester bullshit didn’t get me off her mind, nothing will. Not even killing me. Joanna is _mine._ And there’s not a god-damn thing you idiots can do about it!”

Jingles watches his captive for a moment, his eyes back to the soft blue. Valis smiles like the winner he is.

“You’re wrong there, you stupid little man,” Jingles whispers, barely audible across the room. Without explaining further, he walks back to the door. Lancel is standing there, rapier in hand, body locked in tense rage.

“It doesn’t matter who kills me. Little Joanna will always-”

“Show him the ring, Lancel.”

Both turn to Jingles in confusion for just a moment. But the taller clown realizes what he means quickly and displays his left hand. Over the red costume is a ring, somehow purple and several other shifting colors at once.

Valis snorts, putting on a brave face to mask his confusion. “That’s a real cute accessory. Thank you for showing me that before I die.”

Jingles steps back over to him, leaning to whisper in his ear. “I could help you guess who has the other ring to match that one, but I don’t think you’re that stupid.”

He isn’t wrong. Almost instantly, Valis does the math and realizes what that band means.

The clown nearest him gets one last comment in. “Geist has moved on without you, stupid little lamb… You own nothing_._”

Before Valis can retort, Lancel’s rapier is through his throat. He has one miserable second of consciousness before the dagger crashes through his temple.

Jingles steps back, letting his partner burn through his issues. As it turns out, Lancel has quite a few left with the corpse. The final count is roughly thirty stabs to the face, neck, and chest of Valis. When that’s done, he cuts the rope holding him up and stomps the head until everything higher than his jaw is red paste. This process takes maybe twenty seconds by Jingles’ count.

Finally exhausted, Lancel slumps against the nearest wall. He removes his mask, revealing his dark elven skin as he pants. He doesn’t say anything, only staring at the mess of a corpse he created.

Jingles chuckles and joins him. He takes a second to close the door and remove his mask as well. His scarred tiefling face is a stark contrast to the objective prettiness of Lancel’s, but the sentiment is there as he smiles. “Feel better now?”

Lancel finally looks to Jingles and give an exhausted smirk. “Quite… Do you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I get a warm, fuzzy feeling after I helped kill the enemy of a dear friend.”

Chuckling, the taller Jester looks to the north, past wall and the burning tavern, his mind clearly thinking of something quite a ways off. “I do wish Geist could’ve been here. He deserved to have the choice, at least.”

“Teach me to get better information next time.” Jingles shrugs, then sips some of his water. He offers some to Lancel. “Still, it could’ve gone worse. Valis is dead, we’re not, and a shitty bar was burned down. We came out ahead.”

He takes a long pull from the water, smiles, and slides his mask back on. “True. And there’s no point on dwelling on the past, is there?”

“Nope. Especially when it’s dead and staining the floor with its blood.”

“True… Burn the body as well. Just to be sure, please.”

“Can do.” A short blast of Hellfire erupts from Jingles’ hand, enveloping the body and most of the wall. The smell is rancid, even compared to the burning chaos around them. But it’s very effective.

Lancel smiles and helps Jingles don his mask again. “Much better. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Living the dream here! I got paid to write a story involving my own characters! Yay! Sorry, was trying to be a little cheery after the emotional mess above. An actual description here:
> 
> A Jester's past should stay dead. Simple, right? It helps when they can't remember it. But when the past has trouble letting go... Most Jesters will die for their comrades in costume. And they'll most certainly kill for them.
> 
> Long story short, Reckoner-Lynx over on Deviant Art was so "inspired" by my College of the Jester they made their own. Poor Geist had a rough life before he became a clown, and it still hasn't been easy for him. Especially when he's possessed by spirits and his past continues to follow him. Lynx decided that part of that little mess needed some closure, so they hired me to write some up involving Jingles, and Arbiter0676's (also on Deviant Art) own Jester, Lancel. I was given mostly free reign with this, just the concept, the characters they wanted involved, a word count, and a "keep the torture more Joker-esque, not Nightmare on Elm Street." And I'm honestly quite happy with this one. I enjoyed the process and the end result I came away with.
> 
> Not much else to say, other than hope you all enjoy it! And I'm not dead, don't worry! Just busy as Hell! While I get my life together and decide what I'm working on next, enjoy clown antics!
> 
> Commissioner of this story, as well as owner of Geist and Valis is Reckoner-Lynx from Deviant Art.  
The Campaign and Lancel is owned by Arbiter0676 on Deviant Art.  
D&D is owned by Wizards of the Coast  
Huge shout out to Red Hook Games for creating Darkest Dungeon and their Jester, the biggest inspiration for these characters.  
Jingles and this story belong to me.


End file.
